Salted Soil
by JustlikeWater
Summary: Cruelty and prejudice are things that one is taught, not born with. Snapshots of a young Draco Malfoy and why he is the way he is. (A series of somewhat regularly updated one shots)


**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, J.K owns Draco and his wonderfully twisted family.****_ I_**** merely own this laptop and one shot plot. **

**A/N: A series of one shots that follow Draco throughout his life, showing step by step how he became who he is today. I'm not sure how regularly I'll be updating, but I'll try to get new chapters up asap! Enjoy and review, loves! **

* * *

_**Chapter 1:**__** Of Stars in the Sea and Shopping**_

When Draco was a young boy, his mother used to dress him in his finest clothes and take him all over Diagon Alley to show off. As a child he didn't understand the purpose of wasting such beautiful outfits and precious time on the homely dwellers of the busy passage, but, being that he had a vast imagination, always perceived it as an adventure. His face would oftentimes get brushed by the soft, ballooning skirts of traditional pureblooded women, or scratched by the rough, burlap-esque material of the alley's _less affluent _muggleborn residents. Draco didn't mind it, though; he liked feeling the tangible difference between the two, and relished the chance to physically see why one was better than the other. (It made more sense than his parents' long lectures, anyway)

He was rather small at the time, scarcely past Narcissa's knees, and found that a game could be made of the odd marks he saw on people's ankles, or their funny shoes, or even the strange things that were dropped on the ground.

One day, as he and his mother wandered from yet _another _dress shop, he spotted the prettiest objecthe'd ever laid eyes on, sparkling on the floor within grabbing distance. Without a second thought he released his mother's cool hand and dove between a stranger's ankles to grab it. He had no idea what _it_ was until his small, pudgy fist encircled it, but by then it was too late to be cautious, and the pin from the back of the brooch stabbed into his palm. He howled and released the jewelry, pressing his small mouth to the wound in some failed attempt to ease the pain. Despite the chaos erupting within Draco's small world, the crowd continued to move on, pushing him in every direction like a rampant current, and soon he realized he could no longer see his mother.

Big, fat tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and rolled from his cheeks. How had he been so content mere moments ago, when now he was lost, alone, and injured?

"Are you alright, dear?"

He glanced up and was greeted by a woman's kind, round face, creased in concern and worry. He moved his lips wordlessly, intending to answer her, but unsure how. He hadn't spoken with, or been addressed by, anyone other than his parents and Pansy Parkinson (on their forced play dates), so he didn't exactly know how to speak with the woman before him. With his parents, it was easy to say the right thing, because the right thing was always _Yes, mum. Yes, father. _And with Pansy, winning her favor was easily done by playing her stupid games, in which she was a princess and he _always _had to kiss her cheek and call her "the most beautiful girl in the entire kingdom".

With this orange-haired stranger, however, he didn't know her well enough to know what she'd want to hear, so he remained silent instead.

She examined him closely, perhaps thinking he was mute, before gently taking his hand and leading him away from the busy crowd. "Now, dear, where is your mother?"

He sucked his lips into his mouth and said nothing.

Molly Weasley sighed. Perhaps to any other adult, this act would be very irritating and smack of rudeness. _But _Molly was not one of those people, as she had raised several children and had a maternal radar so finely tuned, that she could sense an impending tantrum from a mile away. She was _also _able to tell when a child was frightened, nervous, or embarrassed, and this darling little boy was all of the above.

She smiled kindly at him and squatted down to meet his eyes. "Can I at least know your name?"

He began immediately shaking his head, but she cut him off with an offer; "What if I tell you my name first? I have a rather interesting name that I'm sure you'd love to know,"

His interest was piqued, and his head-shaking slowed. After a beat of contemplation, he nodded.

"Well, Molly is my first name. It's an Irish name, and it means _star of the sea,"_

His grey eyes widened at this, completely enraptured by the idea of being named something so unique. For a fleeting moment, jealousy rippled through him, because there was certainly no way _his _name could be more interesting. His bottom lip popped out in an unconscious pout, and Molly immediately took notice.

"I'm fairly good at telling people what their names mean. Would you like me to tell you yours?"

Excitement sparkled in his eyes, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Draco Malfoy!" He exclaimed proudly.

For some reason, the woman's eyes dimmed, and something fell out of her smile when he said this. She quickly shook it off, though, and the kind expression returned. "Well, dear, Draco means _dragon, _and it is also the name of a constellation. How wonderfully unique!" The boy beamed.

She didn't have the heart to tell him that his last name, _Malfoy, _meant "bad faith", which, judging by his parents' racist and demeaning tendencies, was entirely appropriate. She looked down at the small boy with a sad sigh. How could something so charming and sweet be the child of two of the most prejudiced monsters in the Wizarding world? It was rather sad, because she could already tell his untainted goodness would not last in such a cold environment; much like a flower planted in salted soil, he did not stand a chance.

_However, _this was still Narcissa's son, and she figured the woman was probably losing her mind over the absence of her child.

"Well, come along, Draco, we're going to find your mum. Do you remember where she was?"

He nodded eagerly and began describing the dress shop in detail; to an extent, in fact, that surpassed his age. Molly could not deny that she was impressed, and didn't doubt that the Malfoys issued him daily studies, or some private tutor. Of course, they did this _not_ for educating and expanding his mind, but so he could be raised even higher above his peers once school began.

Together the pair walked through Diagon Alley, looking for the dress shop Draco had described as "tall, pinkish-purple, covered in little lights," and that apparently smelled like "mum's fancy perfume and flowers". It wasn't the best to go off of, but she at least had some semblance of an idea in mind.

_"Stop! Kidnapper! That's my son, you horrible wench!"_ Narcissa Malfoy's sharp, panicked voice cut through the typical commotion of Diagon Alley like a knife. Molly immediately turned and dropped Draco's hand to show that she meant no harm.

Draco glanced between his mother and the star of the sea, confused about why they were looking at each other so meanly. Well, at least mother looked mean. The star sort of just looked upset. He also wondered why she stopped holding his hand all of a sudden; he rather missed it. For some reason, walking around Diagon Alley with Molly the star was a lot different from walking around with his mother. Whereas mum's hands were cold and smooth, Molly's were warm and soft with little calluses. Mum smelled like perfume and the powdery makeup she put on her face, but Molly smelled like baked cinnamon and kindness, if there was ever such a smell.

"How _dare _you attempt to steal my son!"

"I promise you, Narcissa, I was _not _trying to kidnap your son!"

"Oh, _please_, as if you wouldn't _love_ to have your disgusting hands on a _true _pureblooded child, what with your mangy litter of red-headed _blood traitors." _Narcissa was so furious that she practically spit the words.

"_How dare you! _My children are lovely, and will be raised in an equally loving household. It's little Draco that I feel sorry for! He's a wonderful boy, but with a mother as cold and prejudiced as _you _I don't expect that characteristic will remain!"

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. "You may call it whatever you like, but Lucius and I are firm in our beliefs, so some passionately shouted _drivel _from you will not change my mind. Muggles are bad enough as they are, but _muggleborns_? They are an abomination and an insult to those with _true _magic in their veins. We will raise Draco accordingly, and one day he will _thank me _for not allowing him to associate with such filth." With a final glare at Molly, Narcissa turned to her son and coldly announced that they would be leaving.

Draco's heart sank. Why did they have to leave? Something about Molly's sad face told him that they would not be seeing each other again. He felt a sob clench his throat. He didn't want to go, he was so happy being here with this orange-haired lady that smelled like cinnamon and reminded him of baking dough and warm pillows.

"Mum, I don't want to leave star-"

Within seconds of his defiance, he felt a sharp slap on his cheek. Molly gasped and Draco was quickly, painfully, reminded of why he was only supposed to say _Yes, mum. Yes, father. _He made the necessary correction.

"Yes, mum."

Narcissa sharply nodded her approval. She tossed Molly one last look of disgust, before turning on her heel and leaving, and Draco reluctantly followed.

* * *

**A/N: Hate it? Love it? Want to see more? Let me know in the reviews! Thanks, darlings. **

_**(By the way, if you have any ideas or suggestions for upcoming chapters, such as a particular situation or scene, let me know in the reviews as well! Or PM.)**_


End file.
